


myrmarachne

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Ending, F/M, Off-screen Character Death, Post-Canon, Post-Episode 194 (The Magnus Archives), Power Dynamics, Tumblr Prompt, Web Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: “So that’s it, then.”Jon’s voice is hoarse from screaming, from those first few moments where the Ceaseless Watcher poured itself into him without reservation. Here he stands in the pupil of the Eye itself, and it’s a struggle to keep himself blinking, to cling to his last vestige of humanity.(For the prompt: "Kissing tears from the other’s face." with Jon/Annabelle.)
Relationships: Annabelle Cane/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, The Beholding & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	myrmarachne

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you reblog a post of prompts without realising, oh yeah, people are going to send you prompts. i've had horrible writer's block lately, but i'm going to see if i can fulfill all of them, to get myself back in the swing of things!

“So that’s it, then.”

Jon’s voice is hoarse from screaming, from those first few moments where the Ceaseless Watcher poured itself into him without reservation. Here he stands in the pupil of the Eye itself, and it’s a struggle to keep himself blinking, to cling to his last vestige of humanity.

What was he  _ thinking? _

“More or less. We still have a few loose ends to wrap up, of course.”

Annabelle is sitting in front of him, perched on the blood-stained ruin of Jonah Magnus’ body as though it’s the grandest of thrones. Her smile reminds him of Helen — all false friendliness.

“Do we?” Jon coughs, fragments of statements pushing themselves up his throat and begging to be spoken. It’s almost tempting to let them out: at least he wouldn’t have to talk to  _ Annabelle _ anymore. “This all seems— distinctly final.”

Annabelle’s answering hum vibrates in the air. As she stands up, Jon catches a flicker of the long-limbed weaver underneath her skin. Her eight dark eyes blink at him, demurely amused.

“Nothing’s final, Jon. No matter what Oliver Banks’ lot may have to say about it.”

Oh, yes, the End’s prophecies regarding the fate of the apocalypse. The Eye presses in on Jon again, monstrous fear flooding his brain and drowning out his conscious thought. It doesn’t want to die — a desire that it’s taken from him, the human mind at the center of it all. 

He exhales slowly, trying to focus on the sensations of his body, with limited success.

“If you say so,” Jon says, distracted by the way his own voice feels in his throat.

Annabelle steps closer, laying one hand on his cheek. He ought to flinch, to push her away, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort to work out how his arm connects to his shoulder, how his fingers connect to his hand. It’s a miracle that he’s still standing up, some fluke of muscular reflex the only thing keeping him steady on his feet.

“It’s your world, if you want it.”

We’ve passed that point, Jon doesn’t say. There’s no if about it; Jon  _ is _ the Beholding now, more or less, and the Beholding rules this world with an uncaring gaze. What  _ Jon _ wants is immaterial, except for where his desires align with that of his god.

“And you?” The compulsion comes more easily than ever. “What do  _ you _ want, Annabelle?”

For some reason, Jon expects her to struggle. Maybe it’s because no one has ever  _ accepted _ the compulsion without a fight— or maybe it’s just that he hates her, that he wouldn’t mind ripping his answers out of her just like he tried with Peter Lukas. 

She doesn’t, of course. Why would a servant of the Web resist being controlled?

“You,” she says simply. The affection in her smile is utterly genuine, and it sends a skittering echo of fear down his spine. He’s suddenly aware of how many spiders there are in the Panopticon, making their homes in dark corners and just… watching.

“It’s a little late for that,” Jon manages, tilting his head to meet the gaze of the eye above. Is it his imagination, or are there spiderweb cracks across the glass of the ceiling?

Annabelle’s other hand — one of many other hands, he knows — comes to rest on the back of his head. Far too gently, she forces him to make eye contact with her instead. He doesn’t resist.

“This world was made for you,” Annabelle says, “and you? You were made for us.”

She pulls him closer, careless of how he stumbles, and presses a kiss to each of his tear-damp cheeks. Her lips are rough and cold, but the sentiment is clear: the Web holds as much affection for him as the Eye does, in whatever twisted way they understand the concept.

“Yes,” Jon murmurs tiredly, thinking of an eight year old boy and the children’s book that haunted his nightmares for years. “I suppose I was.”

He was never planning just to watch, was he? The Eye wanted a will, and now it has one.

“Exactly.” Annabelle leans her forehead against his. The webs on her temple press against his skin, softly insistent. “We’re going to rule so beautifully, Jon. You’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> where is martin? you decide >:)
> 
> the title is the name of a genus of ant-mimicking spiders! referencing [mirror spider](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015117), my other "annabelle flirts with an eye avatar who discovers they've been part of the web all along" fic. i know what i like!
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it!


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